


Un Hombre Bueno

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder has a fine time when he and Scully try to leave Florida following a freakish winter hurricane (the *real* X-File of the episode, folks).





	Un Hombre Bueno

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Un Hombre Bueno by m. butterfly

Un Hombre Bueno   
by m. butterfly  
  
Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/m sex, language  
Category: M/Sk  
Spoilers: Agua Mala, SR 819  
Archive: Anywhere--just leave my name on it  
Summary: Mulder has a fine time when he and Scully try to leave Florida following a freakish winter hurricane (the *real* X-File of the episode, folks).  
Author's notes: This is a mindless follow-up to Agua Mala. If you're looking for a plot and serious angst, turn back now! You've been warned. Oodles of thanks to Lucy (aka the Goddess of the Virtual Red Wax Pencil) for extraordinary beta-reading, hurricane expertise and reality checks, and to Michael, Susan and Sue for their love and support. Feedback always appreciated (and answered); e-mail me at if you feel the need.  
Disclaimer: The characters Walter Skinner, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Arthur Dales and Alex Krycek belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. (The motel clerk is all mine, however.) This is a work of fiction intended only for private enjoyment.

* * *

Un Hombre Bueno  
by m. butterfly

Scully couldn't help it. She liked him.

Damned if the old fart wasn't playing yenta, trying to match her up with Mulder.

Arthur Dales, the original founder of the X-Files, was proposing a toast to Fox Mulder's good fortune in having a partner as "savvy" as Dana Scully.

Good fortune, indeed. She sniffed at the amber liquid in the glass he handed her, and fought the urge to wrinkle her nose at it. She didn't want to hurt the guy's feelings. And it *had* to be better than drinking water.

But Scully wouldn't get the chance to find out. In the noisy aftermath of the hurricane, none of them heard the vehicle pull up in front of Dales' ramshackle trailer. Loud knocking against the frosted glass door got their attention, though.

The retired agent raised his bushy grey eyebrows at his young guests as he lumbered to his feet, then shuffled off to see who the hell was bothering with him.

The door screeched on its rusty hinges. "Yeah?"

"Are you Arthur Dales?"

Inside, still seated across from his partner, Mulder whipped his head around, but all he could see was Dales' stooped back.

Puzzled, Scully followed Mulder's slack-jawed gaze.

"What's it to ya?" Dales barked at the stranger.

"I'm looking for a couple of FBI agents. Names are Mulder and Scully. Have you seen them?"

Mulder had recognized the voice with one syllable, but the unexpected pleasure of hearing it had rendered him temporarily mute and immobile. Now that all his faculties were functioning simultaneously, he jumped to his feet and practically ran to the door, grinning like an idiot. "Walter!"

Dales stepped back as the muscular, balding man entered his home. "*This* is the new father?" he asked Mulder, giving "Walter" the once-over. "He doesn't look Mexican to me."

"He's not," Mulder laughed, breezing past Dales to shake the visitor's hand vigorously. "This is *another* Walter. Assistant Director Walter Skinner. Our boss, and-- friend."

Skinner nearly ruffled Mulder's hair, he was so damned glad to see him. Hell, he wanted to ruffle more than Mulder's hair. He reluctantly let go of the hand he was shaking and switched, rather unsuccessfully, to AD mode. "What's this about a new father, Agent Mulder?"

"One of the people we met during the hurricane, Sir. His name was Walter, too. Scully delivered his baby. Well, not *his* baby. Now, *that* would have been an X- File--"

Oh, shit! Scully! With a guilty start, Skinner tore his gaze away from Mulder's face and searched out Scully's. He'd been too preoccupied with the delightful sight and sounds of the man he loved to even notice she was there. "Dana--uh, Agent Scully! It's good to see you weathered the storm."

"Thank you, Sir. Agent Mulder got a little choked up, though," she smirked.

A small frown creased Skinner's forehead. He tried valiantly to appear the concerned supervisor instead of the worried lover. "What happened, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder scowled at Scully, then gazed directly into Skinner's anxious brown eyes. "It's nothing, Sir. I'm fine."

"Didn't look like nothing to me," Dales piped in.

Mulder glared at him, too.

"Agent Mulder--"

"Oh, for god's sake, Walter!" Mulder tugged down the neck of his sweater, revealing a wealth of angry red marks along his pale skin.

Skinner's eyes widened, and Dales couldn't help but notice the tightly clenched fists. "Who did this to you?"

"Not 'who,' Sir. *What*."

Unable to stop himself, Skinner reached out and gently brushed his fingertips across Mulder's neck and throat. "They look like--like *tentacle* marks." Realizing how intimate a gesture it was, he pulled his hand back and ran it over his head, which, Scully observed wryly, was turning the same shade of red as his cheeks. "An octopus? Giant squid?"

Mulder put the turtleneck back up and grinned. "Not exactly. You can read about it in my report."

Skinner sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

The grin transformed into a smile. A huge one. "So how'd you *get* here?" He suspected that Skinner's assistant--one of only two people who knew about their relationship-- had played a big part in getting the boss down here. He'd thank Kim big time when they got back to Washington.

"I flew into Fort Lauderdale and rented a 4x4," Skinner explained. "I'd been following the weather reports, and when I hadn't heard from you and couldn't get through on your cell phone, I started to--well, I became, uh--concerned."

"Things sure as hell have changed since *I* was in the Bureau."

Skinner and Mulder turned toward Dales, and inwardly cringed at the keen way he was watching them. Oh, shit, they were standing much too close to each other. This was Goodland, Florida, after all. Not Key West.

But Dales simply shrugged and headed back to where he'd left the bottle. "Care for a drink, Mr. Skinner?"

Flushing anew, the AD put some distance between himself and Mulder. As much distance as you could put between two people in a trailer. "No thanks, Mr. Dales. We should get going. See if the airport at Fort Myers is open yet."

"Suit yourself," said Dales, refilling his own glass. "But I doubt you'll be flying out of anywhere near here today."

* * * * *

Dales was right. Nothing was coming in or going out of Southwest Florida International Airport anytime soon. The control tower had been one of the hurricane's victims.

An airport official told them things weren't much better in Sarasota either, so they returned Mulder and Scully's rental car and headed off for Fort Lauderdale in the Explorer. Skinner drove, Mulder rode shotgun, and Scully was happy to occupy the entire back bench. The eastbound traffic was heavier than usual due to the beating the lower Gulf Coast had just received, but the four-plus- hour ride allowed her the opportunity to give Skinner *her* version of their first official X-File of the year.

And, she noted, it gave her partner and their boss a chance to--well, to bask in each other's presence. Exchange meaningful looks. Give a shoulder squeeze here, a quick brush of hand to thigh there. Respectful of what they perceived as her delicate Catholic sensibilities, they were rarely demonstrative around her.

After they'd been on the road for a couple of hours, she half pretended to doze so the two men could enjoy a little privacy. The steady drone of the engine drowned out their voices, which they kept low, but she smiled sleepily when Skinner dropped his left hand from the wheel. She knew it had sought out and found Mulder's.

*******

Scully woke as they pulled into the parking lot of the Fort Lauderdale airport. Skinner had wisely suggested that they check out the flight schedules before relinquishing the 4x4 to Hertz. Very wise.

The airport was a sea of chaos, the check-in line a long, winding serpent. By the time the three of them got to a ticket agent, there were no seats available. Nothing. Nada. They were stranded until morning.

Mulder turned to Skinner, but there was no need for the question to leave his lips.

"Don't worry," the AD answered, no longer the surly bureaucrat he'd been just moments ago. "There's no damned way we're going to spend the night here." He remembered to include Scully this time. "Not after what you two have been through this week."

"You're the boss," Scully said, smiling despite the headache that the pandemonium in the terminal was bringing on. "Thank God."

"Come on, then, let's find somewhere to stay." When Mulder put a hand on the sleeve of his all-weather jacket, Skinner's expression was incredibly tender. "Of course we can eat first. I'm hungry, too, Fox."

Scully shook her head in amazement. Just like an old married couple.

*******

Fort Lauderdale was hopping.

"Jesus!" Mulder groused as they sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic. "Evacuees...tourists...who the hell *isn't* here?"

They'd been going from motel to motel since dinner--three hours now--trying desperately to find rooms. Skinner'd called his P.A. for some help from her end, but everything was booked, from five-star hotels to the seediest dumps.

Just when it looked like they'd be spending the night at the airport after all, Scully spotted the Holy Grail: a "vacancy" sign.

"Walter! Look!" She leaned over the front seat and pointed to their right, nearly straight- arming Mulder in the process.

"Watch it, Scully!"

But she ignored him in favour of Skinner. "D'ya see it?"

"Yeah. Now the question is, how the hell do we get there?" They needed to make a right turn but were trapped in the left lane.

Her lips curved fractionally. "Just be--yourselves, gentlemen."

Mulder's gaze wandered from his partner to his lover, a wicked gleam in his eye.

As Skinner signalled and began bullying the Explorer into the lane they wanted, Mulder lowered the passenger side window, stuck his arm out, and flashed his Bureau ID at the cars they were cutting off. It didn't stop the blare of horns, but at least they were moving. Slowly. He was tempted to ask Scully to jump out and run over to the motel and get rooms while they were still available. God knew it would be faster.

They made it to the parking lot without incident, although Scully had been convinced that Skinner was going to turn the sidewalk into his own private roadway. They jumped out of the 4x4 and burst into the small office. To their relief, it was empty, save for a middle-aged clerk with long, kinky hair that was just starting to turn grey. He reminded Mulder of Weird Al Yankovic, but with a tackier shirt.

"Help you?" he drawled around his half-smoked stogie.

Since Scully was the one he was looking at, she marched up to the desk. "We need two rooms, please."

"Sorry, lady. Just got the one left." He finally took notice of her companions and put the cigar in an overflowing ashtray. "And I'd advise you to take it, 'cause you ain't gonna find nothin' else 'round here tonight."

Oh, this was rich. "How many beds?" she asked.

The clerk eyed her, then Mulder and Skinner, then Scully again. "Two."

She was feeling hopeful. "Any chance of getting a cot?"

He barked out a rheumy laugh. "This ain't the Ritz, lady! One room. Two beds. Take it or leave it."

She turned to Skinner and Mulder, the former stone-faced, the latter clearly disappointed. "Guys?"

Skinner took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He nudged Mulder gently with his elbow, recognized the barely perceptible nod of surrender. And understood, for the first time, how tired and exasperated Scully was. He admired her for being the only one of the three who'd kept his or her temper in check all evening.

"It's just one night," he told them in a surprisingly soft voice.

Scully turned back to the clerk. "Okay. We'll take it."

"I'm sure y'all will be nice and cosy."

But there was something about the way he said it that pissed Skinner off. The AD was in the man's face in a flash.

"What the fuck is *that* supposed to mean?" he boomed.

Weird Al shrank back from the counter, the oily smile sliding off his face. He hadn't realized just how big the bald guy was. Couldn't believe how fast a man that size could move. "Nothin'! Just hope, you know, you enjoy your stay with us. Jeez!"

Mulder had moved up right behind Skinner, and Scully touched his arm. "While I take care of things here, why don't you and Mulder go to the room--" She interrupted herself to address the clerk. "You! Give him the key! Now!"

Mulder had to smother the laughter that was threatening to bubble up from his gut. God, the asshole was just as terrified of tiny Scully. Maybe more.

After a few seconds of fumbling, a shaky hand dropped the key onto the desk in front of Skinner, who snatched it up in his huge mitt.

"--and take our bags in, okay?" she finished.

With a final scorching glance at the motel drudge, Skinner stormed out of the office, followed closely by a sniggering Mulder.

******* 

Skinner was just coming out of the bathroom when Mulder admitted Scully to their rent-a- hovel. As expected, the carpet was worn and stained, the wallpaper faded and peeling, the furniture ancient and ugly as shit. Christ, the TV looked like one of the original models. And the beds were-- small. And close together, separated by a cheap, flimsy night stand. From the looks of things, the two men had claimed the bed nearest the door. Scully didn't give a damn. She just wanted to lie down *somewhere* and sleep.

"Well," she said, rummaging through her overnight bag, "I'll go wash up first, if that's okay with you."

"Uh, Scully?" Mulder rocked from one foot to another. "Walter and I are going out. For a drive." It would be midnight in less than an hour.

When she stared at them, she gave Mulder credit for being able to meet her inquisitive gaze. But not Skinner. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him so--uncomfortable. She rather liked this side of him.

"I see." And she did. "Just try to be quiet when you come in, okay? I'm really beat."

"No problem." Mulder gave her a shy smile as he steered Skinner toward the door. "Good night, Scully."

"Mulder!"

Her strident tone stopped him half way out the room. "What?"

She rolled her eyes and grabbed something shiny off the night stand. "Catch!" she ordered as she tossed him the room key.

"Oh!" He gave her a sheepish grin and stuffed the key into his coat pocket. "Thanks!"

Skinner didn't know whether to laugh or groan. "Come on, you." He tugged at Mulder's sleeve. "'Night, Dana."

"'Night, Walter."

Scully chuckled all the way--the whole three steps--to the bathroom.

"Sex maniacs!"

*******

With Mulder at the wheel this time, the 4x4 forced its way out of the motel parking lot and back into the fray. During their brief conversation in the room, before Scully showed up, they'd decided to drive out of town, find some secluded place. At the rate they were travelling, however, they weren't likely to get there before sunup.

Then Skinner squeezed Mulder's knee. "There!"

"What?"

A shopping mall loomed ahead. One of those 250-store monsters with all the bells and whistles.

"Turn right at the next set of lights."

Mulder beamed when he clued into what Skinner was getting at. "Walter, I love you!"

"Ditto. Now hurry up."

Mulder turned into the mall and headed straight for the parking garage. It was a tall concrete structure, designed to hold a zillion cars. A hideous by-product of crass commercialism. But tonight- -a godsend.

They didn't see any signs of life as the 4x4 climbed to the garage's rooftop level, which was completely deserted. Mulder parked in the middle so that no one could possibly spot them from the ground.

The second he killed the engine, he found himself in Skinner's arms. It was their first real kiss in days--days spent worrying about each other, dreaming of each other. Dreaming of this.

"I love the way you kiss," Mulder breathed into Skinner's mouth.

"Missed you," he murmured back. "So much." The deliberate, almost painfully slow movements of his lips and tongue were cranking Mulder up nicely. He held the trusting face between his hands and kissed nose, cheeks, chin, forehead; let his own nose slide into Mulder's hair, savouring the fresh, irresistible scent of his shampoo, his scalp, his skin.

Skinner slithered Mulder's nylon jacket off his shoulders, carefully pulled the turtleneck and V-neck over his head, then put the jacket back on him, but left it open. The night was cool, and he wanted his lover to be comfortable. At the same time, he wanted to see and touch as much of that gorgeous naked flesh as possible.

One hand caressed Mulder's cheek while the other traced the line of his collarbone. But Skinner was fixated on his neck and throat.

"Jesus, Fox," he said softly. He brushed the violated skin with just the tips of his fingers. "Let me know if I'm hurting you."

Mulder was starting to breathe a little heavier. "S'fine. You can try to kiss it better if you like."

Skinner dipped his head below Mulder's chin and touched his lips to one of the red welts. When Mulder moaned happily, the older man increased the intensity of his kisses, leaving the arched throat wet and shiny.

"How's that?"

Mulder answered without opening his eyes. "I think we should move to the back of this bus."

They were too big to crawl over the front seat, so they had to get out of the Explorer and use the back doors. It was still pretty cramped in the rear, but at least they no longer had a gear shift between them.

Skinner eased Mulder down, covering the slighter body with his own elegant bulk, smothering his lover's face with more sweet kisses. Mulder was making such exquisite little noises, like some exotic bird expressing the indescribable joy of flying. Skinner had never had such a uniquely vocal lover before, and didn't realize he'd been making similar sounds himself for quite some time now.

He slid down to worry Mulder's nipples, already erect from arousal and the night air. As skilled fingers plucked at one reddish rosebud while a moist, greedy mouth teased the other, Mulder wrapped his arms around Skinner's head and bowed his own to kiss the sensually smooth scalp.

Skinner sighed happily when he felt Mulder's swelling cock through his jeans. His own erection was throbbing. This was all going too fast, but these weren't the ideal conditions for long, luxurious lovemaking. And God knew they were both exhausted.

Mulder's abdominal muscles rippled under Skinner's fingers as they worked their way down to his fly. He squirmed impatiently as his belt was unbuckled, button opened, zipper pulled down. The feel of slightly callused fingers on his cock stilled him momentarily, then had him madly pushing himself into Skinner's palm. The thumb slid across the slit, spreading Mulder's precum over the crown and down the shaft.

"God! Off! Off!" He raised his hips so Skinner could free him of his clothes. Somehow, as Mulder's jeans and briefs were being yanked down, he was tugged forward until he was sitting. The cloth-covered bench felt good against his bare skin. Much better than vinyl would have.

"Lean back, babe," Skinner told him, pent-up desire making his voice deeply seductive.

 Mulder complied and Skinner dropped to the floor to kneel before him, resting the side of his face on the flat belly. As his hand cupped Mulder's balls, he planted his tongue in Mulder's navel and swirled it expertly. The jutting cock thumped against Skinner's Adam's apple.

Oh, God, he didn't have the willpower or the stamina for much foreplay tonight. He abandoned the navel for the erection, kissing and licking for a fraction of the usual time before taking it fully into his mouth. He let his tongue circle the cockhead and probe its dribbling hole before starting to suck in earnest.

When Mulder began groaning an aria, Skinner kneaded his testicles until Mulder hit the high C. He continued sucking as the tempo of the thrusting slowed and finally stopped altogether.

"Okay, Walter, enough!" Mulder was half laughing, half whimpering as his shrinking cock tingled with vivid sensation.

With a few last clean-up licks, Skinner gently released him. "Got to get it all, babe. I mean, how would we explain a bunch of love stains to Hertz?"

"We wouldn't have to. We'd just look over at Scully and shake our heads sadly."

Skinner roared. "Christ! She'd really hurt us then, wouldn't she?"

"Uh-huh. Badly." Mulder feathered his fingers across Skinner's mouth. "Could you help me get dressed?"

"Sure, Fox. Sorry." He couldn't resist kissing and nuzzling Mulder's thighs, hips and belly as he pulled the briefs and jeans back up. God, the man's skin was like a narcotic. Smooth and soft and warm and fragrant with sex.

Mulder reached for Skinner's hands and pulled him up beside him. He was still wearing the open jacket over his bare torso, and Skinner felt another pang in his chest. Now that his myopic eyes were used to the dark, he could clearly see the marks left by the thing that had tried to choke the agent. Mulder was well aware of the risks his job entailed, and had never blamed his boss for any harm that befell him while investigating an X-File. Like this one. Regardless, Skinner felt responsible. And was no longer interested in getting laid.

Mulder knew it, too. He could tell by the way Skinner was examining him, by the pained look he was trying to hide. He doffed the jacket and put the turtleneck and V-neck back on, delighting Skinner with his ability to read him so well.

"Am I that transparent?"

"As a Coke bottle, Walter." With that, he straddled Skinner, tipped his head back, and invaded his grinning mouth with his tongue. At the same time, he gently rocked his hips forward, pushing them into Skinner's groin, and began unbuttoning his flannel shirt. He left the shirt on Skinner's shoulders but opened it wide, aching to run his hands and mouth over that powerfully built torso.

The truth was, Mulder was in awe of Skinner's body. Always had been. Probably always would be. It was so unlike his own in many ways and, after nearly six months of being together, he still secretly considered it a privilege to touch it, to possess it so thoroughly. He buried his fingers in the thick, soft hair that covered most of the pecs and trailed down Skinner's middle. He pressed his palms against the firm, gorgeous muscles that made Skinner such an impressive, imposing figure.

But Mulder worshipped this man for what lay under all that tissue and tendon and bone. He placed his splayed hand in the centre of his lover's chest, felt the ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump of the heart that beat for him. He still couldn't believe his luck.

"I love you," he whispered emotionally, then captured Skinner's mouth again for a kiss that reawakened both their cocks. Finally, he abandoned Skinner's lips and nibbled his way down his throat. To get to those lovely nipples more easily, Mulder slipped off Skinner's lap sideways, leaned in, and attached his mouth to a breast.

Skinner found the idea of Mulder suckling him like an overgrown infant extremely strange, almost perverse--and highly erotic. He cradled Mulder in his arms, although he felt anything but parental.

"Love you, babe," he cooed, and when Mulder looked up and smiled brightly at him, it just about undid him. This relationship marked the first time in Skinner's life that stupendous sex and true, romantic love had come as a package deal. And he feared it had come too late. He was all too aware that, with the flick of a switch, Alex Krycek could reactivate the microscopic machines now lying dormant in his bloodstream and kill him in minutes. Krycek had once called him a dead man walking, and Skinner involuntarily shook his head to clear the ringing of the rat bastard's words.

Mulder watched the parade of emotions march across Skinner's face and knew what he was thinking. No, not tonight! He was scared shitless, too, and frustrated by the lack of progress in finding Krycek or a way to eradicate the nano-probes. But he didn't want to deal with any of it right now. He didn't want Skinner to, either. He gazed directly into his lover's eyes with all the lust and passion he could muster, then squeezed Skinner's denim-encased erection, giving him something much less cerebral--and much more life-affirming--to contemplate.

Before he knew it, Skinner's pants and underwear were bunched up around his ankles, and Mulder was lying face down in his lap, slurping noisily and massaging his scrotum. As orgasm approached with frightening speed, Skinner tousled Mulder's hair, being careful not to disturb the snake-charming rhythm of the wonderful mouth and fingers working him.

And then he was coming, coming *hard*, his balls drawn up, his butt cheeks clenched tight, his ass right off the seat, his cock plunging down Mulder's throat. He was roused from his trance when he heard light coughing.

"You okay?" He was hoarse. Had he been shouting? He honestly couldn't remember.

"Um-hmmmm." Mulder continued to swallow him down, freed him only when the well had run dry. When he rolled onto his back, Skinner scooped him up and kissed him deeply, then just held him against his pounding chest.

It would have been so easy to fall asleep like this. And very stupid.

"Fox?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Let's go, okay? We'll be more comfortable cuddling in that stupid little bed." He glanced down at his partial nudity, then out the window. "Not to mention safer."

Mulder sat up groggily and helped Skinner struggle back into his clothes. "Cuddle? With Scully within spitting distance?"

He shrugged. "Not much choice. It's a pretty narrow bed. Wouldn't want you to fall out and wake her."

*******

Scully'd turned in about 10 minutes after Mulder and Skinner left the motel, positive she'd be asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Boy, had she been wrong.

She'd stayed in her share of dumps before, but this place got top prize for volume. She couldn't get over how thin the walls were. One neighbour's TV might as well have been at the foot of her bed. On the other side, she could hear someone eating potato chips, drinking something obviously carbonated, and belching with alarming regularity. Just when she'd managed to tune out the racket and start to doze, a new sound would be added to the mix and startle her awake.

She was drifting into unconsciousness when Mulder and Skinner crept wordlessly into the room. If the key turning in the lock hadn't roused her, the smell of sex that wafted off them certainly would have. She sighed to herself but did nothing, too drowsy to bitch at them or move or even open her eyes.

The two men grabbed their kits and T-shirts off the bed, and followed the light that leaked out from the partly closed bathroom door, which they closed gently behind them. The motel was considerably quieter now, and she heard them put their stuff down beside the sink. She could even make out parts of their whispered conversation...and just about everything else they were doing.

She recognized the soft clunk of the toilet seat bumping against the porcelain tank, the metallic scratch of jeans being unzipped, the double rush of water splashing into the bowl, the whirlpool that was the toilet being flushed.

Now they're washing their hands, she thought, staring at the door. Now they're brushing their teeth. At least they had the decency to forego the Fred Flintstone-Barney Rubble gargling routine.

She rolled over and closed her eyes, expecting them to come bed. Her eyes flew open when she heard the swish of plastic against metal, clothing rustling like leaves at Halloween, coins jangling in pockets, feet stepping out of boots. Oh, great. They were going to take a shower. Terrific.

The ancient plumbing sputtered as the taps were opened. She could hear them talking softly as they waited for the water to warm up. When the shower blasted on, she thought back to her childhood, to the way the rain used to bounce off the tin roof of her grandmother's house.

She prayed they were the type to shower quickly.

And they usually were. Unless they were doing more than just soaping up and rinsing off.

At first, Scully tried covering her crimson ears with the miserable excuse for a pillow. But it didn't do much good. She could actually hear them kissing. And what was that strange mewling sound? God, it was *Mulder*! Skinner was shushing him, and she heard her name spoken in the jumble of words. Mulder began giggling quietly, and Skinner's gentle scolding turned into peals of laughter that suddenly died out. Oh--they were kissing again.

Scully gave up on the pillow and, against her will, leaned toward the paper-thin wall that separated her bed from the bathroom. Eyes closed, she remained perfectly still as a miniature bar of cheap soap was unwrapped. As much as she tried, she couldn't push away the images of the two men lathering each other up. Naked. Under the water. This isn't right, she told herself, as she inched closer to the wall. Then Skinner whispered something, there was a shuffling of feet, and hands slapped against the tiled wall. Scully shivered when Mulder gasped, and Skinner shushed him again. After a while, Mulder gasped again, but louder. And, this time, Skinner joined in.

The heat in Scully's face was fierce as she listened to wet skin smacking against wet skin, low moans, ragged breathing. Hell, her *own* breathing was a little rough at this point. Then Mulder-- *squeaked* was the word that came to mind. She couldn't find a suitable word to describe the sound Skinner made.

Well, Scully reasoned, if *I* can hear them, *they* can hear me. So she kept her hands on top of the covers, the sheet balled up in her fists. They would be mortified to know she'd heard them, but she'd positively die of embarrassment if they knew how their lovemaking had affected her. 

She bit her lip as she listened to more kissing and rinsing before the water--presumably ice cold by now--was turned off. Mulder and Skinner dried themselves, or each other (*that* was something she couldn't tell), got dressed, and gathered up the rest of their clothing. With her back to the bathroom door, Scully tried to breathe slowly and evenly as they flicked off the light, tiptoed passed her, and crawled into bed.

After they'd settled in, she cracked an eye open and was relieved to see Skinner's broad back, covered by a light-coloured T-shirt and a threadbare blanket. With utmost care, she pushed herself up onto her elbow to get a better look. Mulder was also on his side, his back pressed tightly against Skinner's chest, encircled by a strong, protective arm. She'd never figured them for snugglers, and the surprising sweetness of it all cooled her ardour.

She lay back down and gave herself an imaginary smack in the head. Lord god, she'd just listened to her boss fuck her partner in the shower! But hearing them exchange their "good-nights" made her feel even worse about eavesdropping. She should have let them know she was awake when they came back to the motel.

Then she wondered if that would have made any difference to them at all.

Probably not, she decided.

And promptly fell asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~   
Fini   
February 28, 1999 


End file.
